Per Michael Griffith’s suggestion last month, I looked up Cincinnati’s Mercantile Library, and it turns out they were about to host a “Literary Evening with Lisa See.” The same Lisa See whose heritage and identity I had pondered a month ago. How could I resist?!

Answer: I could not. So I quickly read Peony in Love (free online courtesy of the Cincinnati Public Library system) in preparation.

Thursday night I made my way downtown for the event. In the parking lot I spotted a group of older women holding copies of Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (See’s best novel, from what I’ve heard) and I asked if I could follow them. They were rather cute, as older people are wont to be, teasing each other and laughing like girls and chattering excitedly about meeting Lisa See. I was excited too, but I was also beginning to suspect that I might not, um, fit in.

This feeling was confirmed once we reached the reception area. I was one of two people under the age of 35, and the other was a daughter who had been roped into volunteering, I’m pretty sure. Soooo yeah. Awkward.

But actually, everyone was so friendly it didn’t matter. And Lisa See herself was mingling before her talk, munching on hors d’ouerves and catching up with her former Pilates instructor who had moved out here from LA. She noticed me hovering, waiting for my chance to talk to her, and welcomed me into their conversation. I told her why I was interested in her — Hi, I’m Miss Identity Crisis! Do you have one too? — and she told me to ask her about it during the Q&A session because she loves talking about it. She also recommended her (first?) book, On Gold Mountain, in which she discusses her family lineage and how she fits in (or doesn’t).

The Pilates instructor was a sweet, enthusiastic woman who invited me to sit next to her in the second row. From there we listened to Lisa explain how Peony in Love came to be, and I sort of wished I hadn’t read it until after I’d heard her talk, because I think knowing her ambitions and inspirations for the book would have added a very special layer to my reading and made the story more enjoyable.

Regardless, I was awed by her charm, her wit, her sincerity. She was very smooth and genuine. (And tiny!!) And she talked a lot with her hands.

When she was done speaking, we had the Q&A, and she said several things that stuck with me.

1. 1,000 words a day, no matter what. Or 2 hours of editing. That’s her work method/ethic, and I think it’s more than reasonable, even for a beginner like me.

1. She personally responds to her email. No assistants, no canned replies.

1. She often joins book clubs for their discussions via speakerphone.

1. And, in answer to my question, “I think for children, what we see in the world around us is our mirror. So when I looked out at my family, at my mirror, I saw Chinese faces.” By appearances, she doesn’t fit in with them, or in LA’s Chinatown (where her family is quite prominent), or in China, but that’s the community in which she was raised and where she feels most at home. On the other hand, here in Ohio, she looked just like everyone else, but that doesn’t mean she felt like she belonged. I found myself nodding (vigorously) the whole time she was answering.

(Note: Even though it’s in quotes, that’s actually a paraphrase of what she said. I can’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday; do you really think I could remember someone’s exact words?)

I hung around afterward, hoping to get a moment with her again — I’d even made a little booklet out of Ama, in case she asked what kinds of things I wrote — but the line for autographs was long and the library’s director mentioned he was planning to see if Lisa wanted to grab a bite to eat since they’d scheduled her to speak over dinner. So I took advantage of what I’d learned (see #2 above) and decided to let her be. I can always try her online.

Earlier this afternoon I met with Michael Griffith, a writer and professor of creative writing at the University of Cincinnati. (Side note: The UC campus is beautiful!! So much interesting architecture and beautiful lawns/lounge space. Definitely made me miss campus life.) Anyway, I wanted to ask Michael about writing in general, writing in Cincinnati, going for an additional degree (MFA or Ph.D.), and being a professor. I figured he might know a thing or two about all that.

His novel SPIKES and collection BIBLIOPHILIA both seem to have been well-received, and I liked the excerpt I read of the latter. But more important than his credentials, he was extremely friendly and willing to help me. We only got to speak for about forty minutes since he was meeting with Ph.D. students about their dissertations all afternoon, but he offered a lot of great advice and even his assistance in the future. I left with a mixture of happiness, warmth, and motivation surging through me.

I mean, sitting at Starbucks and talking with someone who’s doing what I want to do — writing, reaching out and mentoring fellow writers, (maybe) teaching, and somehow still staying involved with family — gave me this feeling that I can do this. I WILL do this. Even a complete stranger thinks so!

It was also cool that he knew of Hilary and Terrance.

A few times during our discussion I felt a little silly/stalker-like because I had looked Michael up online. (”I actually only took one workshop in my undergraduate career–” “From Joyce Carol Oates!” “Yes… How did you know that?”) But I didn’t want to go in knowing nothing and seem rude! Thankfully he was cool about it.

(Because I’m NOT a stalker.)

Speaking of JCO, I’ve been saving up a few excerpts, including one from her. In an interview with The Paris Review:

INTERVIEWER
What are the advantages of being a woman writer?

JOYCE CAROL OATES
Advantages! Too many to enumerate, probably. Since, being a woman, I can’t be taken altogether seriously by the sort of male critics who rank writers 1, 2, 3 in the public press, I am free, I suppose, to do as I like. I haven’t much sense of, or interest in, competition; I can’t even grasp what Hemmingway and the epigonic Mailer meant by battling it out with the other talent in the ring. A work of art has never, to my knowledge, displaced another work of art. The living are no more in competition with the dead than they are with the living . . . Being a woman allows me a certain invisibility. Like Ellison’s The Invisible Man. (My long journal, which much be several hundred pages by now, is titled Invisible Woman. Because a woman, being so mechanically judged by her appearance, has the advantage of hiding within it — of being absolutely whatever she knows herself to be, in contrast with what others imagine her to be. I feel no connection at all with my physical appearance and have often wondered whether this was a freedom any man — writer or not — might enjoy.)

The Paris Review also had a (more recent?) interview with Vladimir Nabokov, but now I am wishing I hadn’t read it (well, skimmed it) until after I finished reading LOLITA, because his arrogance and condescension was so off-putting that now I feel like not reading it just to spite him. But that would be silly.

I just won’t link to the interview instead. :P

Anyway, my meeting with Michael and my foray onto UC’s beautiful campus, combined with this magical weather (sunny, 80s, with a cool breeze), has made this a wonderful day. Tonight we have Riley’s last Advanced Training class, which means he will get the Canine Good Citizen test. Cross your fingers and hope he’s really, really tired, because otherwise he’ll be too darn hyper to pass!